Sand and Snow
by DarkLightShades
Summary: A last ditch effort by Suna to rid themselves of their most unpredictable threat, but Gaara is learning to forgive and his siblings are more determined than ever to keep him alive.


**Author's Note:** Set during the time skip, not too long after the end of the Chuunin exams. I'm currenly calling it an open ended one shot, though some day I might add another chapter or two.

* * *

**Sand and Snow**

As Gaara took his first step off the barge and took in his first view of Snow Country, he spent a moment to regretting not taking the extra time to arrive by foot and acclimatize himself to the weather. The intense cold was immediate and biting, sharper than even Suna's most blistering winds. A lesser Shinobi might have shown some resentment at being sent to a place that was the very antithesis of his preferred territory, but Gaara was nothing if not studiously impartial.

Besides, Kankuro would probably be vocal enough about it for the both of them. "Oi, this is lame. I'm gonna make those council guys regret it when we get back."

"Shut it, Kankuro. Just focus on the mission," Temari's voice was harsh but the comment was directed to carry below the hearing range of the boat's Captain. The man was very much concentrating on ignoring them completely now that he'd fulfilled his end of the bargain and taken them this far, but it paid to be careful. It seemed he'd taken offense to Temari's blatant disregard, Kankuro's sniping sarcasm, and Garra's terminal insomnia, and a resentful commoner with the wrong information was as dangerous as a weapon at your back. It would be better for all involved if they just forget each other as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, while the three siblings were good at a great many things, remaining inconspicuous was not one of them.

Of course the council was well aware of that, but they were determined to see Gaara assigned to this mission and it was unspoken that now his siblings would follow him everywhere, even into the desolate wastes of Snow Country. There were only two reasons for Gaara to be sent away from Suna; first when the council wanted to see how their ultimate weapon was progressing, and second when they didn't want to see him come back. He didn't need either of his siblings to interpret which one this was. There was no question that the three of them were not the best choice for this task, but they would follow orders regardless. That was the way of the Shinobi.

He didn't bother to waste words; if he walked they would follow. The rickety pier creaked ominously under the weight of himself and the gourd. Knowing the kind of territory they were going to face, he'd packed an extra load of sand, making it much heavier than usual. Along with the unusually thick assortment of layers he was wearing and the seeping cold that persisted in invading his bones and strangling his reflexes, he felt unnaturally slow. If his siblings noticed they didn't comment, though it was quite possible they were too wrapped up in their own concerns.

Temari's fan was securely wrapped, swaddled in cloth until it was just another indistinguishable lump tied to her pack. From the corner of his eye Gaara could see her mind at work, analyzing the landscape to judge how it would react with her techniques. Unlike Gaara's, her wind wasn't necessarily hindered by the snow. She should be able to fight almost as efficiently as usual, and judging by the small, satisfied curl of her lip, she'd come to that conclusion as well.

Kankuro's face was unreadable, though perhaps Gaara was just having a harder time in reading it. His brother's expressions weren't so exaggerated when he wasn't wearing the face paint, but that would have been a bit too distinctive for what was supposed to be an undercover mission. On the puppeteer's back were three summoning scrolls; Karasu, Kuroari, and a third one Gaara didn't recognize, but had probably been hand picked for the mission. He faintly recalled Kankuro complaining about the effect ice and snow would have on the wood and joints of his puppets, and it was expected that he'd have found a means of compensating for it.

Both of them would probably be having an easier time than Gaara himself. He pointedly pushed all concerns from his mind and adjusted his head wrap to block the wind more effectively. Snow may have already soaked into his boots, and his nose might have started to go numb, but even this would not be enough to defeat Gaara of the Desert.

* * *

"We should stop for a while," Temari announced, cautiously intoned to be not quite stern enough for an order, but stronger than a mere suggestion. They were stopping now, but she still knew better than to be confrontational about it with Gaara.

Her youngest brother slowed, and there was an ominous pause as he turned to regard her with blank eyes. Gaara could be very single minded about missions, with almost no tolerance for weakness, but either he respected the fact that his siblings weren't quite so indomitable or perhaps he too was feeling wet, cold and miserable. The weather had been horrible – some bastard mix of rain and snow, pure sludge that rained from the heavens and always seemed to hit her in the eye or slime its way down the back of her neck – and she balked at the notion of passing up a hot meal when there was a tavern right _there. _

The slightest inclination of Gaara's head was all she needed, and with an internal sigh of relief that was not reflected in her businesslike expression she manhandled the door of the squat building open and entered the cozy room with an air of nonchalance.

People turned to stare, but that was to be expected. It was a small village, off the beaten path of the main roads which worked well for avoiding unnecessary trouble. Strangers might be marked as unusual, but there shouldn't be any Shinobi stationed in this backwater, useless piece of territory, nor should there be anyone who would recognize them as such.

There was a whole lot of strategy in choosing a table. Too close to other people and Gaara might get twitchy, but sitting too far away would indicate they had something to hide. Besides, she wanted a place next to the fire where she could start to thaw out the frozen stubs of her fingers. She brashly scowled a drunkard into vacating his place, leaving a free spot next to a wall that Gaara could put his back to, and putting them delightfully with the circle of the fireplace's heat. A brief glaring match with Kankuro ensured that she got the prime position, and a further, longer look had him rolling his eyes and waving the tired looking barmaid over.

"Food. Whatever's hot. And a bottle of sake," he ordered, placing a generous handful of coins (all carefully exchanged to Snow Country's main denominations instead of the rough edged Suna ones) down on table. The woman seemed unimpressed by the curt order, but swept the money into her apron without a word and set off towards the kitchens. Throughout the exchange, Gaara said nothing. His dark rimmed eyes were closed, but Temari didn't doubt he was keeping an eye on every single movement in the room.

She upholstered her bag with a sigh, stripping off the top layer of her clothing and leaving them to drip over the back of the empty chair next to her. Across the table, Kankuro did the same, but the only concession Gaara had made was to untie the gourd and rest it by his knee, still within easy reach should they have to leave in a hurry. Temari supposed it was just as well that the mark scoured into Gaara's forehead was still covered. People weren't likely to forget that, though it was doubtful they'd recognize it as belonging to Gaara of the Desert.

It was only the first week away from home and already she was dreaming of Suna's persistent sunshine. Usually homesickness was a negligible feeling, but things were too different here. The mission was going to take at least another week, maybe more if they got bogged down by the terrain, and she knew already it was going to be a long one. Both of her idiot brothers would need careful watching, and damnit, they better not screw up and make this whole thing take longer than it needed too. Gaara especially…

She regarded his from beneath her lashes, not that he even had his eyes open to notice the scrutiny. The council had really done it this time. To start with, covert missions didn't suit Gaara. He was sneaky enough to be sure, but there wasn't a hope in hell that he'd manage to fit in without his siblings to provide a buffer for his strangeness. If left to his own devices he probably would have avoided people altogether, but none of them were bred for this weather, and eventually it would weaken him to the point of making his already crippled reflexes impossible.

To be worried about Gaara…under any other circumstances it would have been laughable, but even without scrutinizing his skin for the odd gritty texture she knew he wasn't wearing the armor of sand. It would be practically impossible in this environment. Already he was weighed down, and the moment it got wet he'd be practically petrified. That left only the sand defense, but how well would it work here? She didn't know, and neither did the council, but with smug smiles they'd informed her that Gaara should learn to overcome the weaknesses in his defense just like any good Shinobi did.

She hated them all at the moment. Little wonder that none of them had been elected as the new Kazekage yet, because neither she nor Kankuro could bring themselves to support any of the loathsome bastards and their opinions carried a lot of weight with the rest of Suna. Gaara, of course, stayed well out of the politics, which was a shame because sometimes she wondered if maybe-

Useless thoughts, and besides, the food had arrived. Warm broth, fresh steaming rice and vegetables, and a bottle of heated sake. Even Gaara cracked an eye at the spread, wordlessly serving himself and eating in small, measured bites. Kankuro was far less reserved, digging into his dish with enthusiasm, and Temari was hard pressed not to follow his example so she could feel superior at showing a bit more control. She's burned more Chakra than expected to match the relentless pace Gaara set, and was starving as a result.

Temari didn't know if Snow Country had any rules about underage drinking like Suna did, but it wouldn't have mattered. Both she and Kankuro had donned a light henge to give the appearance of being older then they really were. Without the puppeteer's stage makeup, the resemblance between her brothers was stronger than ever, but most would probably assume a completely different familial relation. Currently, Gaara looked young enough to be their son; a notion they weren't going to discourage.

Drinking wasn't really advisable on missions, but Temari wouldn't turn down the pleasant burn the sake would leave in her stomach. In a rare act of civility, mindful of the roles they were supposed to be playing, Kankuro measured out a small dose for her. With his arm arched just so to hide his expression from the rest of the room, he made a face at her, so at least she knew he was still normal. In return she gave him a fond sneer, with a turn of her lips that might have been mistaken for a smile. Gaara ignored them both.

The tavern door suddenly burst inwards, and Temari's hand was on the shaft of her fan before she managed to check the reaction. Kankuro's fingers were tracing the disguised edge of a kunai up his sleeve, and Gaara had paused dangerously, the sand shifting in the gourd with a quiet hiss, but thankfully everyone had turned to look at the cause of the violent breeze that snuck in from outside and didn't notice their unwarranted tension.

At least, Temari didn't think they were being attacked. Most ambushers wouldn't be singing bawdy drinking tunes, and as the group of large, furry monsters trekked in and began to shed their cloaks, revealing only slightly less hairy men, they were welcomed cheerfully by the barmaid. Regulars. Temari didn't relax until Gaara started eating again, and only then did she pour herself another cup of sake with hands that were too well trained to shake from the adrenaline spike.

She did note in passing that the gourd was now next to Gaara's chair instead of under the table, but there was nothing to be said about that.

The men began drifting towards the tables, fitting like puzzle pieces to complete the picture, but after the initial noisy entry Temari hadn't counted on there being trouble. Unfortunately, she was proven wrong.

"Our table," a shaggy form at her shoulder proclaimed, so full of self-righteous certainty that it took her a moment to process the fact that someone had even dared uttered it in her direction.

"Excuse me?" she asked. Kankuro raised an eyebrow. Gaara didn't even look up.

"That'd be our table woman," the man leered, his teeth a broken window of crooked teeth. "Move it. We've been out hunting all day an' we're not very patient."

Neither was Temari, but on the other hand things could get a bit messy if it came to a fight, particularly since Gaara didn't really understand the concept of restraint…but then there were some things the daughter of the former Kazekage couldn't let pass. She looked him straight in the eye. "Get your own."

She could see what man couldn't; the charka strings on Kankuro's fingers even if they weren't currently doing anything more threatening than tapping against the wood. Somehow, while still radiating dangerous stillness, the gourd had appeared on Gaara's back, its harness slung haphazardly over one shoulder, but he wasn't radiating killing intent like he might once have. Only mild annoyance.

It was a pity. Killing intent might have forced the man's belated survival instincts to kick in. "I don't think you're listening to me, bitch,' he said, exhaling a breath of stale air on her cheek. His expression was surprisingly composed, cheerful even, though his eyes were hard. "If you think anyone here is going to stand up fer a bunch of strangers, you're going to be disappointed, now get out before we throw you out."

She failed to be impressed. Sharing one look with Kankuro, whose hand twitched in a gesture she was familiar with, and one look at Gaara who managed to say both more and less with his utterly bland expression than Kankuro had with a smirk, she reached for the cloth bundle on top of her pack.

"Put your dirty hands anywhere near me," she dared sweetly, "And you'll be eating them up to your elbows."

She probably didn't even need to unwrap the fan for this.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, as the three of them skipped lightly over the snowdrifts with the tavern burning merrily like a bonfire, Gaara reflected, "I don't think that was worth it."

"It was just a table," Kankuro agreed, siding with his younger brother from past habit rather than any conviction in the words. Suna pride demanded nothing less than retaliation for the casual insult. Besides, they hadn't killed anyone…assuming that one guy Temari had taken hadn't choked to death on his own limb.

"It might make things difficult later." Gaara didn't sound like he especially cared one way or the other, merely stating a fact.

"We'll deal with it then," Temari asserted, not bothering to look back at the chimney of smoke that wasn't quite covered by the impending storm.

So far they'd been in snow country for sixteen hours, and somehow she suspected things were going to follow much the same trend.


End file.
